


locked

by goldenheartprincess



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy (Off-Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: F/M, Multi, diverts from canon, domestic abuse, honestly i don't know what this is, maybe it will be a series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 23:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11816433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenheartprincess/pseuds/goldenheartprincess
Summary: Hélène and Pierre have matching necklaces; a heart and a lock. Their hearts and marriage is broken and their love and locks are missing.





	locked

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first Great Comet fic ever (okay i wrote one drabble once) and I'm really nervous, so if you could please please please leave comments, I'll love you forever.   
> Diverges from canon big time, really inaccurate. I'll explain the inconsistencies in the notes at the end as to avoid spoiling.

The Countess drifted along marble tiling, contemplating on the beauty of the estate she was fortunate enough to call home. Despite her wealth, caring husband, charming appearance, and rising social status, she held a dark heart, shadowy and broken in her fingertips. For once in her life, she realized that she was helpless. 

She tapped absentmindedly against the silver railings, peering down at the crowded ballroom below her. "I now present the Countess Hélène Bezkhova!" A servant announced as heads reared back to face her youthful body. She smiled smugly, playing the part that Kuragins, married or not, were cast as. Applause scattered through the ballroom.

Pierre met her at the base of the stairs, with a key around his thick neck. It hung on a thin chain, buried under his vest; but Hélène knew it was there. She felt it way him down every second.

Instead of wedding rings, the pair had agreed to wear matching necklaces. He had the key and she had the lock, symbolizing the privacy included in marriages. For her, that meant secrets. She no longer had the lock.

But he still had her.

He grimaced, taking his lovely wife by the arm. They pretended to be happy all evening, just as they had for their whole lives. Her eyes fluttered to the key every once in awhile, when the conversation would turn away from gossip and into politics. The key would rise and fall, hidden by gold fabric, as Pierre spoke animatedly about his views. Every breath grew heavier as he argued his points. Hélène was fixated on the key.

The lock.

_ He had locked the door, silently entering their bedroom. He pushed his glasses up his slender nose and looked up, just above her forehead. Her face fell, concerned by his stiffness. _

He said that no man was considered free, not yet, and that freedom was a right worth fighting for.

_ "What's wrong, dear husband?" Hélène's voice echoed around the room, light and airy like a songbird's melody. She wasn't pretending to care; she was trying to care. _

"Does he always talk so much?" Her brother's voice whispered behind her, tickling the hairs on her neck as he breathed gently. "I hardly remember conversations with him. I hardly remember those nights drinking at all."

_ He didn't say a word. His arms wrapped around hers in what seemed to be a caring embrace, but his grip tightened, holding her in place. _

"Never stops talking." She smiled politely and muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Anatole to hear.

_ "Hélène, my beautiful wife. My lovely bride, my lover." His lips repeated the dreaded 'my' over and over, reminding Hélène that she was nothing but a pawn in the Russian societal chess game. She wasn't even the queen. "I have heard things. Dreadful things." _

"I pity you." Anatole laughed softly in her ear. "I can't even imagine your time in the bedroom."

_ "I have heard, you've been accompanying Fedya Dolo-" Pierre began, but Hélène bust out of his arms, stepping back, falling onto their bed. He stood over her, appearing taller and stouter than ever. She swallowed her fears. _

"I promise, you don't want to." Hélène teased.

_ "They're not true!" She denied with her exterior breaking down. "Stupid husband, I love you and only you." _

A wine glass smashed against the ballroom floor.

_ A strong hand slapped across her face. _

Hélène jumped, turning towards the sound. One of the Rostov boys had dropped his glass by accident. The Countess chuckled, turning back to the group, which began to discuss the incident which just happened. "Boys will be boys, as they say." She bit her lip as the guests chortled at her serious joke.

_ "I've seen the way he looks at you at the club and the way he touches you under your dress at the opera." Pierre spat, glaring down at his unfaithful wife. She could never have been faithful to a man she didn't love. There was no faith in a loveless marriage. "I should have known there was something more." _

_ "Dear husband, don't take such actions so seriously." She whimpered, not allowing a single tear to flow. "Boys will be boys." _

"Darling Hélène, may I speak to you in private?" Pierre smiled kindly, pulling his wife aside, as they darted behind a column next to the kitchen. The party could continue without them. "I understand you're upset, but please, can you behave for my sake? Without comments and snark?"

_ "And married women will have lovers." He snarled, lifting his wife up by the pearls around her neck, a small lock charm between his fingers. It snapped in half, dropping Hélène back onto the bed. He held the charm in his hand, looking down and remembering what love once felt like. _

"Of course, dear husband." She swallowed, angry beyond words. To be hurt so harshly right before a ball and then supposed to be a model wife was something Pierre could not expect from her.

_ Looking at the lock, he began to cry. And then he walked away. The guests were arriving. _

Looking at her pearls and the missing charm around her neck, she began to cry. And then he walked away. The servants in the kitchen of which she so deeply envied were arriving.

_ She stayed in the room and prepared to make her grand entrance. _

He stayed in the ballroom prepared with the lock in his pocket to make his grand exit.

_ "Fedya Dolokhov!" She screamed into a pillow, ashamed of her lover's name. _

"Fedya Dolokhov!" Pierre shouted across the party, ashamed of his lover's actions. "I challenge you to a duel."

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed this, because I had a fun time writing it.  
> 1) I know that The Duel didn't happen at a ball (I think it started at a Rostov Dinner Party in War and Peace but moved to the club during Great Comet). Now it will.  
> 2) I know that Pierre and Hélène were both abusive to each other and I don't excuse cheating. I'm just developing the characters in my own way.  
> 3) I think Hélène is a little ooc, but that will be fixed if I continue this fic.  
> 4) I envision Amber Gray and Josh Groban.  
> 5) Please give me comments okay


End file.
